


home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before

by some_where



Series: Found Family [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dad!Scar, Feels, M/M, Pining, Scar-centric, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_where/pseuds/some_where
Summary: Miles smiles again, his red eyes ablaze with anger and determination. Scar leans toward him without realizing it, a bit entranced.“I’ll tell you about it later,” he says to Scar’s disappointment. “In the meantime, I’m on vacation.”“I didn’t know Briggs men knew that word.”Miles lets out a surprised and amused chuckle.“Look at you cracking jokes. I don’t know if it’s Mei or the city, but you seem much more relaxed.”“That’s how I feel,” he says simply.Miles stares at him with earnest eyes.“I’m glad to hear that, Scar.”---------------Miles shows up unannounced on Scar's doorstep.
Relationships: Mei Chan & Miles, Mei Chan | May Chang & Scar, Miles/Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)
Series: Found Family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456336
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before

**Author's Note:**

> You don't need to read the previous works of the series before reading this one, but i advise that you read the beginning of Cooking Session (part 2 of the series) to know what happened between Miles and Scar prior to this fic.

Scar is making bread, apron tied around his waist and elbow deep in dough, when the doorbell rings.

It’s either a neighbor or a door-to-door salesperson, as it’s early afternoon on a weekday and Mei won’t be out of school for another hour. Repulsed by both possibilities, he elects to ignore whoever it is and goes back to his bread.

The doorbell rings again, and again, each ringing longer and more insistent than the previous one. Scar lets out a long-suffering sigh. He dusts his hands on his apron and puts on his scariest, most murderous expression, before walking over to the door and opening it.

Whatever rude words he was about to say die on his lips when he sees Miles standing on his porch, a suitcase at his feet.

“Hello,” he says, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I left the military,” Miles replies with an easy smile. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Too surprised to give a relevant answer, Scar steps out of the way and Miles strides in.

A few minutes later, the bread is in the oven and they’re sitting at the table drinking tea. Miles has yet to offer details about his situation, so Scar decides to take the first step and ask.

“Are you taking a sabbatical?”

“No. I quit.”

Miles takes a sip of tea, as calm and level-headed as ever. Scar knows him pretty well by now, and he’s not the kind of person to make rash decisions. Still, he’s been so dedicated to Briggs and its soldiers that his resignation comes as a surprise.

“I suppose General Armstrong didn’t take it well.”

“She certainly didn’t,” he chuckles. “But she eventually understood my reasons. There’s no hard feelings between us.”

“I didn’t see this coming. I thought you wanted to use your position in the military to help the Ishvalan cause.”

Miles stays silent for a couple of minutes, stirring his tea, his spoon dragging against the cup the only sound in the room. A less informed person would think he’s not going to answer, when he’s just carefully choosing his words. It’s one of the reasons Scar’s always enjoyed his conversations with him: rather than talking too much to say too little, as most people do, Miles’ words are thought out, honest and to the point.

“I was being a fool,” he eventually answers, taking off his glasses to look Scar straight in the eye. “An idealistic fool, but a fool nonetheless. I thought that once we deposed the corrupt, genocidal, war-mongering government, the new head of state would help the Ishvalans. I was wrong.”

His smile turns bitter.

“As you know, Armestris is helping us to rebuild Ishval. But it’s not enough. We need reparations, and independence.”

“But they don’t want to give it to us,” Scar states.

“No. As long as Ishval is part of Armestris, they can exploit our resources as they see fit, and they’re not willing to give that up. And despite General Armstrong backing me up, neither Führer Grumman nor the other generals wanted to hear me and the Grand Cleric out. The way they looked at us…”

Fury ignites his face, somehow making his features look sharper, and his free hand curls into a fist.

“Ishvalans don’t have the time or luxury to wait for Armestris to get a sensible government, as that day might never come. My position in the military is clearly useless to our cause, so I decided to work on it from another angle.”

“Which is?”

Miles smiles again, his red eyes ablaze with anger and determination. Scar leans toward him without realizing it, a bit entranced.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he says to Scar’s disappointment. “In the meantime, I’m on vacation.”

“I didn’t know Briggs men knew that word.”

Miles lets out a surprised and amused chuckle.

“Look at you cracking jokes. I don’t know if it’s Mei or the city, but you seem much more relaxed.”

“That’s how I feel,” he says simply.

Miles stares at him with earnest eyes.

“I’m glad to hear that, Scar.”

Scar lowers his gaze, unable to withstand the sincerity in the other Ishvalan’s eyes. Miles was there for him at his lowest, cared for him in a way no one had in years. Without him, it probably would have taken him much longer to get out of his depression, and he feels both grateful and embarrassed.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“I know.”

He looks up again to see Miles staring at him with a warm, open expression. He used to be aloof and guarded most of the time, but seems to soften a bit around the edges now that he’s out of the military. Scar clears his throat and changes the subject.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“I was hoping you would offer me your guest room.” He pauses, hesitating. It’s an unfamiliar look on him. “But I could also rent a hotel room. I know having a child means having a routine, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You’re always welcome in my home,” Scar reassures him. “And don’t worry about Mei, she’ll be thrilled to have new company.”

“Thank you. If I’m a bother, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“I won’t.”

Miles raises his cup to his lips to hide his smile.

As he’s washing the dishes and Miles is wiping it dry, Scar decides to ask another question.

“Won’t you miss Briggs?”

“I won’t. But I will miss Briggs men.” He puts the saucer he was holding down on the counter. “They’re family to me. But I’m also Ishvalan, and Ishvalans need me more than Briggs soldiers do. It’s time I put my priorities in order.”

Scar nods his understanding.

The oven beeps, and Scar switches it off before opening it. He pulls out the bread and leaves it on the counter to cool down.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working today?” Miles asks.

Scar looks at him.

“I work from home two days a week. Is that what you really want to ask?”

The other Ishvalan looks sheepish, then uncomfortable – another unusual look on him.

“You probably think I’m stupid, don’t you? To have believed that by being part of the institution that slaughtered our people, I could change it from the inside out.”

Scar takes the time to mull over the question and his answer.

“I don’t think you are – or were – stupid. I think you were naïve, and wanted to believe in people’s goodness. It’s hardly a fault.”

“It can easily become one,” Miles whispers.

“I wish you were right about being able to radically change a violent institution through talks and debates. I wish you hadn’t been proved wrong. I’m sorry.”

Miles wordlessly looks away, but Scar goes on. The words are hard to get out, but they need to be said anyway.

“It’s easy to become a cynic when you’re going through hell. It’s harder to stay hopeful. You… gave me hope, Miles, in a time when I thought I would never feel it again. So I pray to Ishvala that you won’t lose yours.”

The other Ishvalan looks back at him, and emotions Scar can’t quite describe flash across his face.

“I’ll try.” His lips stretch into an amused smile. “A few years ago, I would have never guessed that you of all people would tell me to stay hopeful. How the tables turn.”

Scar chuckles in agreement, and pulls the plate of fresh bread toward them. It’s tender and golden-brown, and he tears off a fluffy piece to offer it to Miles. Warm fingers brush against his, and he’s suddenly reminded of those same fingers stroking his hair. He abruptly misses the physical intimacy that they once shared, and that they’ll never share again now that he’s stable and healthy. Scar’s mind drifts into dangerous territories: he dwells on the memory of Miles’ calloused hand on his scalp, then wonders how his lips would taste like.

“You’re staring,” Miles states, amused.

Scar flusters and grunts, shoving bread in his mouth to not have to explain himself.

He’s saved by the jangling noise of keys opening the door, telltale sound of Mei coming home. She kicks off her shoes at the entrance in a haste, then runs to hug him. She doesn’t even notice Miles.

“Hi Daddy! How was your day?”

“Fine. We have a guest.”

Mei finally notices the stranger in her house and unglues herself from her father, straightening her posture. She met Miles only once before – he visited them not long after Scar adopted her – and is still a bit intimidated by him. That being said, being intimidated never made her shy.

“Hello, Mr. Miles.”

“Hi, Mei. You can call me just Miles.”

“I don’t know, it feels weird. Can I call you Uncle?”

Miles makes a face and Scar represses a smile.

“Please don’t, it makes me feel old.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Wh—"

“Come on Mei,” Scar cuts in, barely containing his laughter. “Tell me about your day while I set up the guest room.”

He makes the bed while she goes on about her teachers, her classes and her friends, and later on Miles insists to cook them dinner.

A couple of weeks later, the three of them have settled into a new routine. A dangerously comfortable and domestic routine, according to Scar, who has a harder time quieting down his feelings with each passing day – which is unfortunate because there’s no way Miles could possibly be interested in pursuing a relationship with him. They’re friends, and understand each other in a way that they both craved, but Scar – with his taciturn disposition, his messed-up past, his trauma, his whole _child_ – is far from being dating material.

Still, Miles smiles at him, confides in him, stares at him like he’s seeing something _beautiful_ instead broken, making an overwhelming surge of emotions rises in his chest. As they sit closer than necessary on the couch, the proximity of their bodies making Scar tensed and relaxed all at once, his heart drumming in his ribcage, he wishes that he could wake up every day for the rest of his life to Miles’ piercing eyes and warm hands.

It all comes to a head on a Thursday night.

Scar has tucked Mei in a few hours ago, and is now spread out on his bed, reading a book. His bedroom’s door creaks open, and to his surprise Miles comes in. Scar props himself up on an elbow.

“Something’s wrong?”

His friend doesn’t answer, and instead plops down on the mattress next to him. The bed isn’t very large so they’re pressed to each other from shoulder to calf, Miles’ body heat radiating through his clothes and branding Scar wherever they touch. A thrill goes through Scar, and his heart thumps loudly in his chest.

“What are you doing?” he asks gruffly.

“I can’t sleep,” Miles answers simply. He crosses his hands on his stomach and closes his eyes.

Scar tries to go back to his book, but fails to process a single word despite his eyes being trained on the pages. His entire focus is aimed at the other Ishvalan, his senses acutely aware of his presence: his slow and even breathing, the way his shoulder moves slightly every time he takes a breath, the minute contraction of his thigh muscles when he shifts his leg. Eventually, Scar turns towards Miles, only to find him unabashedly staring at him.

“What?” he asks again, trying not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Nothing. It’s just… you’re beautiful.”

He says it with absolute certainty, his eyes earnest and admiring. Scar is taken aback – Miles isn’t joking around, isn’t lying either, so why he would say that? He looks up at the ceiling, too afraid to keep looking at the emotions so openly displayed on his friend’s face.

“There’s nothing beautiful about me,” Scar says when he’s recovered enough to speak. “You’re tired. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Miles frown and roll on his side to inch even closer.

“I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” he whispers.

“I’m a broken man trying to get better. Trying to be a decent father. Nothing else.”

“You’re a fire.”

Scar turns sharply towards him. Their faces are inches apart, and when Miles speaks, he can feel his breath on his lips like the ghost of a mouth pressing against his.

“You burn so brightly,” Miles goes on, voice a bit awed, eyes a bit dazed, still not looking away. “A luminous torch fueled by rightful anger. You didn’t have anything but rage and despair at the time, and still you gave people hope. You gave _me_ hope.”

Overwhelmed, Scar tries to turn away – but with a firm, warm hand on his jaw, Miles gently keeps him in place.

“I’m a murderer,” Scar whispers in a shaky voice, now unable to do anything but stare deep into Miles’ eyes. “They deserved to die. I don’t regret what I did. But—” His voice cracks, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “—I didn’t want my legacy to be soaked in blood. This is not what my parents stood for. This is not what my brother stood for. This is not what I used to stand for.”

His hands are shaking, too, and the book slips from his limp fingers.

“Your legacy is justice,” Miles says in a firm tone. “Your legacy is hope. If it weren’t for you, many more would have died.”

His thumb slowly caresses Scar’s cheek. The touch is almost too tender to bear, and Scar exhales painfully, tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m a murderer too,” Miles goes on, red eyes shining with sadness. “We both have blood on our hands, and we both have our reasons for it. We can’t wipe it clean. We can’t forget about it. But…” He inches even closer, the tip of their noses brushing against each other. “We can accept that we did what we had to, and forgive ourselves.”

They’re so close that all Scar can see is crimson ablaze with determination and tenderness. And when Miles tilts his head and closes the gap between their mouths, Scar closes his eyes and forgets about anger and sorrow and forgiveness, instead reveling in the gentle, warm lips against his, and the heart beating as loudly as his own in the chest pressed against his.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a quote by Warsan Shire
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ jabariqueen if someone wants to talk about FMA. Don't forget to leave comments and/or kudos if you enjoyed this!


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